There is something in the way the breeze stirs the trees, like fuel in the sails of ships, it whispers of a voyage today.
A journey minus the map, on a sensory sea of colorful waves that rise and swell when one receives Spring.
Birds become poets and poets become dreamers who lift the veil between tale and truth, releasing reality to the open arms of fantasy, and the words on pages are grateful.

There is something in the scent of blossoms, like a liquor of love, it pours perfume from the elixir of Earth.
Fragrance that intoxicates the spirit with zeal for life, and births desire to part from time.
Petals become artists and artists become magicians who cast spells of admiration, causing stop and gaze to those who pose naked and flowering, and the color on the scape is peaceful.

There is something in the feeling of Spring, like a harmony of unique voice, it welcomes all to sing of joy from the heart.
Living free of the past to embrace the new now, each day is the first day again.
The breeze and the birds, the flowers, the feelings of Spring and all the days of the seasons, are love.
There is something, yes, and love is the something there is.
Love is the something we are.